


The Moon that Embraces the Sun

by thornspike



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU wherein Zelena is not a wicked bitch... sort of, Alternate Universe, F/M, Family Feels, LOTR References, Outlaw Queen - Freeform, Penny Dreadful references, Pillars of the Earth references, TW: Blood, Witchcraft AU, divine retribution, graphic description of blood, trigger warnings will be posted, tw: Implied/Referenced Abortion, wicked queen brotp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornspike/pseuds/thornspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a girl struggling to learn her place in life crosses paths with a boy striving to make more out himself.  If this was any other fairy tale, it would end in a ‘happily ever after’, but in a land where magic is forbidden, a witch named Regina, meets a boy named Robin, and the world between them suddenly became less bleak. OQ AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl and the Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narcolepticbadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcolepticbadger/gifts).



> I’d like to thank my beta, lillie-grey (thanks mum!) and La Famille, oneresilientheart, lollymoon, thisisamadhouse, whitebuddah0524 for their input and never-ending support and for putting up with my mis-sent messages and weird-ass questions. narcolepticbadger, remember the fic that I promised you (84 years ago) 5-6 months ago? Well, here it is! I hope you like it! (And please don’t disown me)…

Fate can be quite a fickle thing. A farmer can find himself covered in dirt one day then be drowning in gold the the next. A priest can be repudiated and at the same day a heretic can find faith. One morning can be filled with soft beds and silken sheets, lace dresses and teacups with golden filigree, orchards of apples and gilded coaches, and a manor not as big as the castles in fables but big enough to have windows as tall as the ceiling. The next day can present itself with worn clothes, ratty blankets, a pile of hay for a bed, with nothing but the sole warmth of another body to keep the chills at bay. **  
**

It has always been the two of them, her sister and her, for as long as she can remember, and for a girl of barely five winters, Regina Mills couldn’t ask for anything more than to see her older sister’s fiery head in her every waking moment.

She was an awfully perceptive child, bold and tenacious as any fledgeling, but as all children grow, and their phases come and go, curiosity was always ingrained to her; to ask 'why’ seemed to be her favorite past time.

_'Sister, why is the sky blue?’_

_'Why is there water falling from the sky?’_

_'Why can’t the baker’s son understand what I’m saying?’_

_'Why did you stop bleeding when I touched you?’_

_'Why is my hand glowing, sister?’_

But as time went by, the more questions she asked, the less answers her elder sister gave. It came in short responses, snappy and trying. It wasn’t until after she asked why meat made her sick and saw her sister burst into tears that she finally stopped asking.

The little girl wondered. And she probably always will, as questions upon questions piled up in her mind, the answers were not coming.  _Why don’t they have parents? Why don’t they look alike? Why don’t they bathe together like they used to? Why did her sister yell at her when she grabbed the back of her dress? Why does her sister have bruises on her neck every time she places food on their table? Why does her sister cry every night after she sings her lullabies?_

“Why are we here?” She whined. She was cold, she was hungry, and she was tired. Her feet hurt from the long trek into the forest to this strange house that looked like a moss-covered tree and she wanted to go home. Now.

“Be quiet, Regina,” her sister admonished.

She didn’t like being called that. It felt strange, unnatural. She was left trailing behind, pouting as she did so, while her sister jogged the remaining paces forward. Her sister raised her hand, but hesitated to knock.

The wooden doors opened before her sister could even knock properly. In front of them was an old woman, stout and graying, dark skin wrinkling and sagging, her thin lips curled to a severe frown. She glared down at them, eyes white and unseeing, yet strangely focused.

Regina grabbed her sister’s skirt and hid behind her.

* * *

“My name is Zelena Mills, and this is my sister, Regina,” her sister said.

“Are we courting?” The woman asked sharply. “I don’t want your names.”

The sisters stood, petrified, the older was trying her best to stand her ground but the younger one shook, knuckles turning white from her grip.

“How long?” the woman asked, her voice was severe and cutting.

“I… I don’t know,” Zelena replied quietly.

The woman stared at them speculatively, her blank eyes cold and calculating. “Get in,” she said. “The little one stays outside.”

* * *

Zelena turned to her sister and crouched to her level. “I need you to be a good girl and stay here, alright?” she said, attempting to tuck a wayward lock behind her sister’s ear.

“ _Laica_ , no!” she protested, looking at her with those wide, brown eyes, brimming with unshed tears. She tugged harder at her sister’s clothes, pleading, begging her not to go.

So pure, so innocent.

Her sister just smiled, prettily as always, and replied, “It will only be for a minute, _Táriel_.”

_Let go, Regina. It’s going to be alright._

Little by little, her small hands released their grip.

So trusting. So naïve.

* * *

The first time she thought she heard her sister’s muffled screams, she tried to break through the door, but as much as she pushed and shoved, the door stood, it didn’t budge, not even so much as rattled. The next time she heard it, she knew it was her sister. A cold shiver ran down her spine, her hands felt cold and clammy and she felt sick, like the times when they had to pass by the butcher’s. She wanted to see her sister, but try as she might, the door still won’t open.

She cried for her,  _'Laica! Laica!’_ , as she pounded the door with her small fists, tears and snot dribbling down, but it was still locked from the inside.

When she finally exhausted herself, she sat on the dirt, with her back resting against the door. She pressed her palms hard against her ears, trying to muffle the sounds of her sister’s screams and whimpers, but it was all in vain.

* * *

She did not know how long she was sitting on the ground, pulling out the weeds that she could reach. It was past noon when they arrived there, but as the day gave way to the wisps of blues and purples and pinks of the resting sun, and the teasing peeks of stars came, the moon soon awakened.

She scrambled to her feet when she heard the door open. Her eyes widened in fear when she saw the old woman, with her sleeves pushed to her elbows, wiping her bloody shrivelled hands with an equally bloody rag, her skirts drenched in blood. Her blind eyes seemed to know exactly where she was.

“You,” she barked. “Get in.”

The little girl stood, frozen in fear. Where was her sister?

The woman seemed to understand her fear, and added, “She is resting.”

* * *

She found her sister sitting on a rickety old chair by the fireplace. She was pale and sweaty, her mouth contorted into a grimace. She was wearing a different dress from the one she wore earlier. It was big and grey and kept falling off one shoulder. It didn’t fit her. And neither did the blank look in her eyes. A look that wasn’t replaced by that pretty smile of hers when she saw her.

“I want everything as it was. I’m blind, so you don’t want me to grab powdered root of asphodel instead of flour now, do you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, “you will have your own chores and you will sleep in the loft.”

Regina looked at her sister in confusion.

“This is our new home,” came her sister’s only reply.

“And for fuck’s sake, teach your sister the common tongue!”

* * *

As days turned to months, and the months turned into sharp, biting winters that slowly bled into the colors of spring, life continued for all of them.

Soon, five winters had passed and they lived, they survived. The old woman never told them her name, nor did she call them by theirs. They went by ‘girl’ or 'child’, and they called her 'ma'am’ or 'madam’ in return. She looked after them with startling accuracy. Her unseeing eyes never once posed a hindrance, for she was robbed with sight but was blessed with other senses.

She was strict and ruled with an iron fist. She did not coddle nor soothe them but they were never hungry and they were never cold. She did not hug them nor tucked them in at night but she taught them the life of the forest and ways of the Old Religion. She made the little one kneel on dried beans when she stubbornly refused to learn her letters but she made her favorite oatcakes when she finished learning them. She was harsh and austere but she was never cruel.

In that time, Zelena grew into a beautiful young woman, ardent and shrewd. Her fiery mane a match to her spirit. She had no problem adjusting her mannerisms to blend with the humans in those rare times that they had to go to the marketplace. Her pale skin and delicate curves drew several men’s attention, but she never had any suitors for her dowry went only as far as the clothes on her back.

Every man who had lewdly propositioned to her met with an unfortunate fate, from boils to emesis to just plain bad luck. It made her cackle madly at night as the old woman looked at her, shaking her head with a long-suffering sigh.

Regina grew bigger. Healthier. Gone were the sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones of hunger. Her cheeks became plumper and rosier, but her hair was still as unmanageable as ever. She still hated eating meat. The smell of roasting game by the pit never failed to make her stomach churn, to make bile rise in throat. Over the years she learned to force herself not to vomit every time she heard it sizzling. Never again did she ask why.

She still had that boldness and tenacity inherent in children. Curious to a fault. What she didn’t ask reflected in her eyes, and her will to learn was conspicuous. She had always been attached to her sister until the first few moons, uncertain of the change, but as weeks passed, and the new environment became somewhat familiar, she became more of her own person rather than her sister’s shadow. In time, she was following the gammer’s every step, always fiddling the substances in the amber bottles until she knows every single one of them by consistency, always dipping her finger in unknown concoctions, to the chagrin of the older women.

* * *

In the five years they spent with the old woman, their little house in the middle of the woods was visited by all sorts of people from all manners of life.

Their first winter came, and a man passed by, limping heavily on a stick, asking them if they saw his son. They hadn’t of course, for children rarely wandered in this part of the woods.

Then came a harried old woman, barreling inside their house with a crossbow in her hand, demanding them to help her granddaughter. She scared the wits out of Regina, making the little girl cry onto her sister. The blind woman was not impressed. It was almost the plenilune, so they had weaved a cloak as red as blood for three days and three nights, under the guiding light of the star of Huan, the Great Wolfhound. They had doused it with a tincture of wolfsbane for good measure.

“No tears, no rips, no snags. Do you understand? Or you’ll have to wait for the next solstice and it won’t be as cheap.” The blind woman had warned. The grandmother merely nodded.

The next year greeted them with a comely-looking prince asking them how to find a particular plant, a night root. Regina shook her head for she had never heard of such a plant, while her sister stood petrified, gazing at the prince with a wide set of eyes, her neck and cheeks as vibrant as her hair. It was only after the blind woman had sent the lost prince on his way that they learned that it was a root that if ingested would help one overcome any and all fears, or would drive them mad with it.

A month after Regina’s ninth name-day, two women came seeking a beast, a yaoguai, a creature of old. Legends said that the beast could burn an entire village in a single night.  She thought it was a futile quest. Hopeless and impossible. But the women were determined.

Next came a boy, barely older than Regina, hailing from a far away land asking for a cure for his ailing heart. The sisters had thought their caretaker would only laugh at him and drive him away, but the young man’s eyes bespoke only of genuine sorrow. The old woman made him drink a scarlet substance from one of the unmarked bottles in the shelf. Less than an hour later, he left, eyes glassy and with a crisp bounce to his strides.

“Does it look like we have a sign that says 'Come here, we can help’?” Zelena had asked exasperatedly after a seafarer had come and went one early morning, trading a small box of doubloons for a vial of dreamshade.

The old woman barked out a laugh. “A lesson you need to learn girl, is to never turn your back on those in need… Especially our kind. For they would remember you and return the favor one day. The humans on the other hand,” she had paused, listening for any movement in the loft. Satisfied that the little one was still sleeping, had continued, “will only come here for two reasons. One is to burn us.”

Dread seeped through her bones as an unwanted memory flashed before her eyes. She asked, “And the other?”

The cold, unseeing eyes had stared piercingly at the girl. “I think you already know.”

Zelena had swallowed the bile that rose up her throat. She placed a hand on her stomach, now flat and empty, barren of life. The pain and the awful stench of blood still fresh in her mind.

They had never spoken of it before and they never did again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laica - is 'green' in Quenya, roughly translated  
> Tariel - is 'queen' in Quenya, roughly translated
> 
> *the previous Chapter 2 was merged in this chapter*


	2. The Gift and the Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta Em, and the twin Lolymoon for their lovely questions, suggestions and violent reactions (I’m hoarding your comments! Just saying…)

The old woman took Regina to the moors to collect herbs one day, leaving Zelena to tend alone to the young woman who came to their dwelling, seeking help.

“Go. I can do this,” Zelena had stated, her eyes burned with fierce determination. The old woman had acquiesced, for the eldest of the sisters was always there to help her with these women, while they sent the younger one away. Always far, far away from their work.

When they arrived, the blind woman began to ask her about the different plants around them. She nudged a short herb bearing purple flowers with her walking staff and asked Regina what it was.

“Bishopwort,” she immediately answered. “Or wood betony. It attracts bees for honey. It can be crushed and put under your pillow to prevent nightmares.”

“And…?” the gammer prompted.

“Ground to a powder to prevent drunkenness and,” she paused, her small mouth frowning to recall that missing information. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “It makes you piss well!” she exclaimed.

“You’re learning. Good.” It was probably the highest praise she would get from the old lady. But she was not complaining.

* * *

There came a time when the sun’s heat became too much to bear, so they sought refuge under the canopy of a sapient willow. They did not talk much as they rested on the gnarled roots of the tree, with the girl too busy snacking on wild berries and the old woman contentedly smoking her pipe.

Regina paused from her eating when she saw the old gammer blew out smoke rings that changed color. It was entertaining to see the the iridescent wisps change hues before fading into the air. From its pleasant woodsy aroma, she surmised the leaves to be the sweet galenas that the older woman grew beside their house.

She looked at the skin that peeked through the woman’s sleeves, just below her thumb. It was as wrinkled as its adjacent counterparts; there was no redness, no swelling, no waxy, silvery line that demarcated it from the others. There was no sign of the cut from yesterday’s kitchen mishap, resulting in a profusely bleeding hand. The wound that she had healed with her bare hands.

She scuttled near the woman, any concept of personal space was lost in the child. Without any preamble, she poked the area where the wound should have been and found it as unremarkable as its surroundings.

Beside her the old woman merely chuckled and spoke, “You have a gift, girl. Leechcraft. Same as mine, but not quite. When you master it, you will hear the echoes of nature in your ear,” she paused and leaned closer to the girl, whispering, “but in order to hear, you must learn how to listen.”

“Will I ever get to learn that?” Regina inquired.

The crone leaned back down to the tree as she puffed her pipe. “You’re already doing it,” she remarked.

“Were you born with it? The gift?”

The woman shook her head and replied, “I learned it. You and your sister were born into it.”

“How did you know?” She wondered, her eyes widening with unveiled curiosity.

Her companion took a moment to draw in a generous drag and blew out a puff of smoke and watched in silence as it took the shape of a butterfly. It fluttered its dainty wings in Regina’s face before perching itself on her nose, making the little girl giggle.

“Because when you first came to my home, you only spoke the language long forgotten by our kind. What we only know to use in spells, you speak fluently. You’ve always been what you are.”

* * *

It was already mid-afternoon and their baskets were brimming with herbs when the blind woman deemed it enough to go home. They took the old forest path, something they rarely did for humans in the nearby town made use of it. But they were parched and tired and it was the fastest way home.

 _Home_ , a word she thought she’d never use.

On their way, they came across a cart pulled by a dappled filly, driven by two men talking rather raucously about crops and other whatnots. Their conversation halted into a tense silence as their cart drew closer to them. They clutched at the relics hanging from their necks and drew a sign of their faith. As they passed by, one of the men dared to look at them and spat on the old woman’s face.

Enraged, Regina took her slingshot from her belt and picked up a jagged stone by her feet, the kind that would smart, that would draw blood. Aiming for the head, she drew back her arm—

“Don’t,” the old woman ordered sharply. She slapped Regina’s hand and knocked the stone from the sling’s pouch.

She turned and looked at her incredulously. “But why?!” She doesn’t understand.

“Say you hit him? Say he fell? Say he breaks his neck? Say he dies? You do not want that burden on you, child,” she answered, gathering her apron to wipe the disgusting substance from her face.

 _You are not ready_ , was what the blind woman didn’t have the heart to say.

Regina’s face fell at the old woman’s implication. “Isn’t that supposed to be my choice?” She asked, chastised.

“When you are no longer sleeping under my roof and no longer eating my food, it shall be yours. When you’ve started to bleed with the changing of the moon and learned the ways of the human folk, it shall be yours. But until then, it’s mine.”

* * *

A young woman came to their home one afternoon, dressed in a peculiar number that Regina had never seen before. The woman wore a fancy dress that sported all signs of wearing. It might have once been a pretty blue gown, if not for the fading, and the fraying at the hems from being dragged on the ground. She had on a carcanet that had dull stones, cheap unlike the adamant mined by dwarves deep within the mountains. Her boots were well worn and muddy, probably from trudging through the forest. Her hair was a mess, her face paint, even more so, doing a piss-poor job of hiding the dark shadows under her puffy, red eyes.

Regina wrinkled her nose as the woman passed through the door. She smelled strongly of spirits and cheap perfume.

“Well? Are you going to help me or am I goin’ to hafta take this somewhere else?” the woman snapped.

Regina saw her sister give the woman a fierce glare. And she was right to do so, in her opinion. The woman was not nice, the way she looked down at them and their home with her nose held up high seemed like she was looking at something nasty at the bottom of her shoe.

Regina scowled, she did not like her one bit.

The woman noticed her look and scowled back, “What are you looking at, fucking demon spawn.”

Zelena immediately sprang forward, and hauled the woman against the wall. She held a sharp knife against the woman’s throat, a wicked gleam reflecting on her eyes.

“You listen here, you whore,” Zelena spat, “you came here out of your own volition, you do not get to order us around. And if you as much as look at my sister again, you better pray to your god that your spawn would be the only thing I’d pull out from your cunt.”

The woman stood, unblinking, shaking in terror. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, gaping like an ugly fish.

“That is enough,” the blind woman barked. “Get her money, girl. And take your sister out.”

* * *

“I don’t like her,” Regina claimed as she walked outside the door, not bothering to lower her voice, “she’s mean.”

“You don’t have to like her because you will never see her again,” Zelena replied, thrusting a wicker basket to the child. “Go pick up those berries that you like and we’ll make jam after supper. You do know better than to pick nightshade, don’t you?”

Regina stuck out her tongue in offence. “Unlike you sister, I actually pay attention to the lady when she speaks.”

Her sister laughed prettily, the familiar tinkling sound she had heard ever since she was little. But it wasn’t the same. And Regina couldn’t really place when it had happened, when the light had stopped shining on her sister’s eyes, when her lips told a story while her eyes told of another.

She was afraid to ask _‘why’_ , so she didn’t.

It was only when she went on trudging her way, and the fleeting reminder of her sister to come back before supper still echoing amongst the trees, that it occurred to her that perhaps she should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gammer - archaic term for old countrywoman  
> sweet galenas - or pipe-weed, is a type of plant developed by the Hobbits. They are also known as westmansweed in Gondor.


	3. The Boy and the Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, lillie-grey (thanks mum!) and to the twin, Lolymoon, for the quick read!

Her foraging took her farther than she had anticipated, for she realized she had ventured off into the part of the woods where she always had her sister or the old woman to accompany her. This is where the humans hunt, the old woman had said to her the first time they went there, and it is not safe to travel there alone.

She was about to turn back when she heard a howl. She stood, frozen for a second, listening to any sound of movement.

 _Strange_ , she thought, for wolves rarely go down from the mountains to that part of the forest so close to where humans lived.

She soon heard growling and a subsequent yelping. The yelp piqued her curiosity for it most certainly didn’t sound lupine, it sounded human.

She walked carefully towards the direction of the noise. Her footing lithe and silent, unbreaking the otherwise undisturbed filth and detritus of the woods. It came from a clearing ahead, just beyond the cluster of checker trees. She placed her half full basket on the ground, and peeked around the grey and peeling bark of the tree.

At the far end of the clearing were wolves, easily more than half a dozen, crouched, hackles raised and fangs bared at a solitary figure slumped against a great oak.

She hoped they were not the contagious kind, for she had never met one with such illness, such curse, and she was not planning to, at least not in the immediate future. What she knew about them was only what she had read in books. They were known by many names,  _nauro_ in the lost tongue,  _gaur_ in the forgotten one, a _versi-pellis_  in man’s olden tongue, and skin changer in songs and legends of the lay. Despite the difference in language, they all have one thing to say: cursed are those who bear the mark of Draugluin, the first of their kind. They were humans cursed to change to their pelts as the moon waxes, their forms larger than the norm, they were contagious as they were deadly.

Ironically, what she read was not what scared her of those beasts but rather, what the blind woman had said, once changed, their forms will be consumed by savageness, so inexorable, they would be unreceptive to anything but their own instincts.

Regina shook her head, snapping herself from her reverie.  _Stupid_ , she scolded herself. Lost in her own thoughts, she forgot the single most crucial detail, that those who were cursed exist in solitude, for they would not hesitate to kill each other in cold blood.

The pack advances, and her cold, clammy hands dug into the bark, just in time to see the figure, no,  _a boy_ , frantically swats a branch in front of him, waving it like a banner on fire. It was a poor attempt to ward them off, and if anything, it made the beasts more agitated.

 _That idiot!_ Did he think that flimsy stick of his will help him? He will die if he continued doing that. Making up her mind, she stepped out from her hiding place, took a deep breath and commanded,  _“Daro! Ego!”_  Her solitary voice was sharp and loud, and it reverberated to the entire clearing, ordering the mongrels to stop and to go away.

The spell did its job as she saw a few wolves stop on their advancing towards the boy and fled, while the others looked around for the source of the sound. They were bigger, and undoubtedly the ones who led the group. Finding her, they turned and started to prowl towards her, snarling, glowering, their eyes glinting maliciously amongst the dimming light of the setting sun.

Her eyes widened as she took a step back out of pure reflex. The spell wasn’t enough. It was not enough.  _Think, girl, think!_ A voice eerily similar to the old lady’s rang in her head.

She closed her eyes and dug deep into her memories, of the words long suppressed, but not forgotten. She stretched out her hands and opened her eyes.

 _“Heca!”_  She shouted. If all else fails, a spell spoken from the lost tongue was more than enough to send them from whence they came.

The beasts jumped, startled, as if whipped. They turned tail and ran, ears down and tails between their legs, yelping and whining on the way.

Regina breathed out heavily, feeling like she had just sprinted uphill. Her little body was still humming of residual magic. She walked towards the boy and saw three deep claw marks on his right arm. She can heal that, she noted and smiled, “Are you—” she never finished her sentence as her nose was assaulted by a strong metallic stench. Something not from the wound of the boy’s arm. It was horridly familiar.

It took her back to the time when she and her sister had passed by the butcher’s while he was gutting and bleeding out a kill. It was the kind that wasn’t easily forgotten.

She hesitantly took the bough from the boy’s limp fingers and tossed it aside. There, hidden under the twigs and leaves of the discarded branch, laid the boy’s leg, or what remained of it.

His trousers were torn, his left shank even more so. It was bleeding profusely, and chunks of what was once intact flesh was ripped out to the bone, probably warming a wolf’s belly. All she could see was red, as it soiled the boy’s clothes and stained the earth beneath him, as it gushed out from his mangled limb and created a puddle around him.

Regina fought hard not to gag. Out of pity for the boy, out of sheer embarrassment for herself.

“C-Can you help me miss?” A weak query came from the boy’s pale lips, and it had a distinct tone that sounded foreign to her ears. His eyes were blue, she noted, as blue as the cloudless sky, just as beautiful, just as deep, just as drowning.

“No one has ever called me that before,” Regina mused, silently assessing the damage, swallowing the bitterness that made itself known at the back of her throat, cringing, as she did so. She had not yet tried recreating flesh, nor was she given any opportunity to do so, but there’s always a first time for everything.

“Begging your pardon milady,” his apology came easily and with sincerity, his eyes flitting in and out of focus, blinking sluggishly, heavily tempted to fall deep into slumber.

“I’m not a lady,” she murmured, somewhat distractedly. She needs to stem the bleeding of his arm while she works on his leg.

“Then what do they call you?” The boy’s sweaty blonde head rolled backwards to rest against the tree.

“Girl. Child.” Regina replied, hastily tying her kerchief tightly to his arm. She might not get it back, but that’s the best that she can do until she’s done with his leg.

“Name then…” he almost whispered, it was near silent, but it persisted.

“Regina,” she relented, very much doubtful that he’ll remember it, let alone this night, considering what he went through. “Now will you hush up and let me fix your leg? And don’t fall asleep!” She tried her best to imitate the old lady’s voice, but her efforts were reciprocated differently.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he slurred, the smile on his face passed off as a grimace, but his teasing eyes told everything.

“Stupid,” she mumbled half-heartedly, concentrating, hands poised above the misshapen limb. She felt the steady stream of magic travel through her arms, warm as liquid fire. Her hands glowed white, resplendent like the stars from the heavens, merging with the pale light of the waking moon.

The boy jerked in surprise, and she laid her hand on his knee to settle him. “Don’t move,” was all that she uttered, her eyes never leaving the wound as the muscles, veins and skin knit together, interlocking in a series of webs and patterns that nature commanded them to.

The boy spoke of random things, his mother, the food that he ate that morning, how he nicked an apple and got away with it, the games he and his friends liked to play, and more. It was like he was talking in his sleep, but he was still awake. He was conscious enough ramble out his thoughts but not enough to correct his drooping stare.

It was unusual, to let a complete stranger tell you about everything and nothing, and yet it was strangely comforting for Regina to not listen only to the hushed voices of the wild.

She did not know how long she stayed there, mending the boy’s leg, but as the shadows shifted beneath the forest canopies, and the cold began to nip at her toes, she figured it was getting late. Her sister must be worried sick, and the madam would probably make her kneel on dried beans come morning.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tug on that errant lock hair currently dangling in front of her face. She looked at the boy and with what little light they had, and saw that he was still somewhat dazed, his eyes still droopy, but he still had that stupid smile on his face.

“What?” Regina snapped. She was cold and tired and hungry. Apparently healing magic of this level had a price she never thought would tax her so.

“You’re real,” the boy mumbled in wonder, his unfocused eyes widening slightly as if only realizing it then.

Regina looked affronted, “of course I am!” In her irritation, she pinched the newly formed portion of the boy’s shank harder than she should have. She didn’t feel guilty when he winced, for the skin proved to be firm and elastic.  _Good_ , she mentally praised herself,  _one down, one to go._

“I thought I was dreaming,” he mused, looking blankly at her hands as she took off the make-shift bandage from his arm. The wound on his arm was long, but not as grave. Three lacerations marred his right arm from shoulder to elbow. It was no longer bleeding and the cuts on the sides were already crusting on the edges, but the middle one was deeper, and had a fair amount of skin was torn from it.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, incredulously. Her hands were already shaking when she called forth her magic, but she was as obstinate as she was gifted, and soon the clearing glowed with her will once again.

“And in that dream, I thought I met a moon fairy,” he murmured, his glassy eyes looking somewhere behind her ear.

The comment made Regina giggle. She didn’t want to tell the boy that no such thing exists. That there was only the kind, the kind that lived in the flowers of Pixie Hollow and went by their colors instead of their names. She felt the boy’s stare and met his with her own. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment when she realized how close their noses were. She held his dazed look longer than she would have liked, and broke away almost immediately after.

“Y-you won’t tell on me, will you?” she asked in apprehension.

“I won’t,” he swore. “Mother raised me better than that.”

She grinned. Hopefully she won’t be in too much trouble if the humans were not involved.

There was a peculiar fluttering in her stomach. She somehow made friends with a half-delirious human boy while mending his torn limbs, somewhere deep into the woods in the middle of the night. Mayhaps this day wasn’t so bad.

She was about to thank him when a high-pitched scream pierced through the clearing.

“What are you doing?!”

Regina froze, staring at the figure plowing its way through the dense thicket. It was a girl, she figured, as the shadows gave way to the lantern held in her hand. They were about the same age but she was wearing a dress of finer making. The girl was staring at the both of them, horror evident in her eyes. It was then that she realized that the intruder was staring at her glowing hand poised above the boy’s still open wound.

“Get away from him!” The girl shrieked.

Regina didn’t have the chance to react before something hard hit her on the face. The impact made her world tilt over as she toppled to the ground, the lantern that was previously in the girl’s hand landed at her feet with a sickening crunch. She was startled, to say the least, as the pain in her head kept her vision swimming. Her nausea came with a roaring vengeance when she smelled that familiar ruddy scent and tasted an unfamiliar metallic tang.

Her front tooth moved to the probing of her tongue, until it was promptly dislodged and was spat on the ground. She felt something trickle below her nose, down to her lips and to her chin, and with a shaking hand, she touched her mouth and hissed at the sharp pain it caused. Her fingers came back wet and sticky, and even though it was dark, somewhere in her frightened mind she knew what it was. She scampered to her feet and saw the boy already passed out, his half-mended arm was left with a long, solitary gash that she was still healing when she was interrupted.

“Help! Somebody help!” The girl called out behind her.

 _Run!_ Her mind yelled at her, before the men with pitchforks and torches and hounds arrived to catch her.

So she ran. She ran with her unsteady legs and hiked skirts, and she darted through the trees, and into the night.

She was driven away like some wild animal, like the wolves she had protected the boy from. It made her cheeks burn, but unlike what had happened when she was with the boy, this heat was unpleasant and foul. It left a nasty feeling; it blurred her eyesight and soured her tongue. It coiled tightly in her chest and settled heavily in her stomach. It was very much unwelcomed.

If she had hidden behind the trees, she would have heard the little girl scream the boy’s name, begging him to wake up. If she had stayed, she would have seen a dozen villagers enter the clearing to give their no longer needed aid. If she had been there, she would have seen the smile on the girl’s face as they praised her for finding the boy and for saving his life. If she had stood her ground, they would’ve dragged her to the town square and burned her come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Draugluin - the first werewolf to be bred during the First Age of Middle Earth  
> nauro - (Sindarin) n. werewolf  
> gaur - (Quenya) n. werewolf  
> versi-pellis - (Latin) n. shape-changer; who can metamorphose to different shape  
> daro - (Sindarin) v. halt! stop!  
> ego - (Sindarin) interj. be off!  
> heca - (Quenya) vb. in imperative “be gone! stand aside!”


End file.
